Normality
by xxSheWantsRevengexx
Summary: Madison Taylor, escaping from an abusive boyfriend, ends up in Liberty City, where Leon Kennedy is currently an Officer..escaping the past of Raccoon City slowly but surely. Turns out, he wouldn't escape it for long. Please R&R!


**Author's Note: I do not own Resident Evil nor any of the characters presented in the series. I do, however, own Madison Taylor and others mentioned throughout the story that I will mark. (Such as Johnny Garraty) **

**NORMALITY: **_The state or fact of being normal; normalcy._

The redheaded woman gathered her belongings in her arms, a leather purse her mother bought for her last Christmas ("Oh, hunny! I know you don't like leather but it just fitted you so well!" She could hear her mother say everything she picked it up.), a hairbrush, a set of car keys with a Bettie Page keychain attacked, and a bottle of Mountain Dew. The man's cursing had deafened in her ears as she rushed to the front door. _Just make it out, you'll be fine. _She repeated this in her mind like a broken record as she checked her surrondings to make sure she had picked up everything. His screams were approaching louder in her mind like an airplane roaring off in the distance, like a giant fly.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" His words were slurred with rage and alcohol.

_Just make it out, you'll be fine._ The record skipped.

As the man entered the room, she realized that other belongings she may leave behind weren't important at the moment. The woman made her exit to the door, every step was closer and filled her body with relief. Was he going to come after her? She wasn't about to turn around and find out. The door opened and she was able to exit. She just had to make it to her car. The door's hinges squealed an alarm of the exiting of the man. Fuck, she thought to herself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"Did you not hear me?!" His voice echoed through the hallway of the apartment complex. Yet again, she did not answer him. Only focused on her pace to her car and getting their as quickly as possible. The drunkard's footsteps were heavy, yet clumsy, against the tile flooring.

"Madison!" He yelled out her name. "Madison! Please don't leave me!" He was becoming desperate. The alcohol weighed down his legs and made his pace slow, giving her an easy headstart towards the parking lot. Madison stepped out of the hallway and into the parking lot, hunting for her red Toyota Corolla. She spotted it with much greater ease then she had expected and climbed inside, closing and locking all doors. In her rear-view mirror she saw his figure standing at the end of the hallway, beating a heavy fist against the plastard walls. He was screaming something but the clearity was muffled by the car. Starting it, the car was shifted into reverse and she pulled out, shifting into drive before making her exit.

Her car came to a hault at the stop sign at the end of the parking lot that met with the main road. Madison lifted her head and under her eye she could see where a nasty bruise would take form in the morning. She sighed, slipping the sunglasses off the top of her head and onto her face, taking a right onto the road and drove out towards the town's sunset.

The sun was sinking behind mountains of buildings and a forest of streetlights. Her sense of direction seemed to be damaged as she missed her turn twice and eventually wonded up in a neighborhood she was unfamilar with. It was cluttered with Government housing, small and dirty, as if they had been there for many years without being touched. Small children raced down the sidewalks barefooted. Some toated sticks with their friends and 'shot' each other, the victim falling to the ground in a pool of imaginary blood. Madison paid her attention back to the road and tried to find a familar road or landmark. After only a few minutes of searching, she decided to just let the road take her where it wanted. A full tank of gas would let her travel for most of the day around town or somewhere a few hours away. Setting off away from the wore-down neighborhood, she followed a road with a sign that read; LIBERTY CITY 68.

Leon Kennedy was slowly recovering from the nightmares of Raccoon City that had surged through his mind nearly every night for the past year and a half. For once in a long time, he felt as if he could lay down his guard and act like a normal human being. Leon chuckled lightly to himself at the word 'normal'. Who the hell thought of such a callused, dumbing definition for such a word that could hardly be used. What was normal? Suppose it was defined hundreds of ways - each to their own. Leon's definition was definitely different from let's say, Leon's Larry Gilman-with-a-wife-and-three-kids-and-a-bug-eyed-pug-happily-ever-after neighbor. Normal was not having the undead tearing at your skin like opening a bag of potatoe chips and being able to live freely without A) the fear of being ate alive or B) not having a gun on you at all times, with your guard up.

He leaned into his couch and rested for a moment, closing his eyes. Night had enveloped the city, a handful of stars poked through the darkness - still being able to shin over the city's lighting. Soon he'd have to be off to work. The horror of Raccoon City had not scarred him enough to give up his ambition for being an Officer of Law. So now he was a Patrol Officer for Liberty City. He had made it three weeks now. Yet, something deep inside of him complained about the dullness of the job, keeping him restless. Of course the living was a lot less interesting then the core minds of the undead. Definitely a lot safer, however.

He opened his eyes to read the clock. 9:34. Leon had to be at the Station by 10:00 tonight. With a sigh, he pulled himself off the plushy heaven that was his couch and walked over to the bar in his kitchen, picking up his coat and sliding himself into it. The small apartment he owned was comfortable and decent priced. When you entered, a staircase to the left lead to his bedroom, a spare room and a bathroom; to the right was the small kitchen with a built in bar. The living room was spaceous and only a couch, a coffee table and a T.V. stand occupied the room. It was away from the mainlife of the city and close enough to keep aware of what happened their. He loved it here in the apartment-built-for-two. Though, it bugged him some nights as he laid in his Queen size bed, staring up at darkness. _Apartment Built for Two._ Where the hell was Number Two? Why couldn't he be Larry Gilman-with-a-wife-and-three-kids-and-so-on-and-so-forth? Leon switched on his radio and automatically the chattering could be heard through the static - a dispatch for a carwreck, robbery, traffic violation, ect. ect. He turned the volume down and walked out of the apartment, making sure to lock the door behind him. The cold chill of the wind stung his face like a thousand needles. He shivered deeply and raced to his patrol car, slamming the door behind him once inside. His brown, shaggy hair hung in his face and with one swoop of his hand, it was pulled back. Leon was not sore on the eyes. No, not at all. With a muscular build, strong jawline, crystal blue eyes that seemed to always give him a serious tone to his apperance. It wasn't Leon's lack of looks that kept him from holding hands with love, or perhaps even a one night stand. It was the nightmares. Blood-thristy, flesh-consuming, life-threating nightmares.

Mozart music being slaughtered by an electronic device began to sing it's sorrow through Leon's telephone. After fumbling to find the phone he picked it up without even looking at the number.

"Go ahead." Leon said.

"Hey, it's Alisha. Do you have the paperwork on the Falonie case?"

Alisha's voice was very high pitched and irratated Leon on most occasions. The small woman worked in the station and keeped all the files. Long blonde hair, big breasted and air headed. So, why would someone trust her with serious papers? Alisha may have had the common sense of hamster yet she knew how to do her job.

Leon glanced over to his passanger seat and saw the file laying there before he looked back up to make his left on to Mallard Ave.

"Yes ma'am, I do."

"Good. Could you drop them by the station before you make your way out tonight?"

"Sure. I'll be there in about 15." With that he closed the phone shut, tossing it over ontop of the file.

Madison reached Liberty City by 11:07 P.M. and realized then how exhausted she was. She had made a few pit stops here and there before reaching the town. McDonalds to eat, a stroll through a strange park with a four headed Palm tree was caged in the middle of it. There was a plaque under it but she didn't read it. It was a weird sight anyhow. There was also some sort of walking marathon that delaid her right out of Liberty City for a good 20 minutes, until everyone had passed. Driving deeper into the city, she scanned the area for cheap motels. All she carried on her was roughly 80 dollars, enough to get a room, possibly more food and gas. Her eyes scanned the right side of the road where up ahead was a blinking, pink neon sign. As she approached, she was able to read 'Palm Motel' with 'Vacancy' twitching green under it. Madison turned into the parking lot and stopped her car infront of the small office.

All the rooms were first story, none above that. They were built close together in a half-circle. It appeared that only three out of twenty-some-odd rooms were taken. Inside the glass office stood a short, heavy mexican with a dark moushache. Madison walked to the window where she was able to speak through a small hole that was ingraved in the glass. The man's eyes scanned her thin frame as Madison fumbled with her purse, pulling out her wallet.

"I need a room for one, please." She said.

"One? That'll be Fifty." The man had no accent of being mexican.

Handing him a fifty, he exchanged the bill with a room key.

The room was small and not very pleasant. It smelled of a bleach and vomit mixture. Madison coughed and held her hand over her mouth. How the hell was she suppose to get use to this smell for the night? If it wasn't so cold, she would have left the door open. There were two twin beds with a small nightstand inbetween them. A lamp and a small bible sat on the nightstand, she flipped the lamp on. She walked into the bathroom, staring at herself in the grime-stained mirror. Since night had swallowed the day, she removed her sunglasses. The bruise was now a dark shade of purple and the pressure made her eye shut half-way. Her crimson red hair fell down only a few inches past her shoulders, a thin framed body was wrapped in only a small shirt and a pair of tight pants. Her jacket now laid out on the bed as she stripped from her shirt and pants.

Laying in bed, she kept the light on as thoughts bounced around in her mind. Johnny Garraty. That was the man who had blackened her eye that night. Even Madison wasn't quite sure why he had done it besides the fact of his shot after shot that helped to influence it. She was away from him now, in a completely different County. Tonight was the end of their short-termed relationship, that was for sure. It angered her that she had always been the victim to fall for such relationships. Turning over on her side and bringing the acrilyc blanket to her chin, she tried not to think of previous matters in her life. For a long time she gazed at the Bible that laid on the nightstand. The dust on the cover indicated it hadn't been touched for a long time. There was, however, a pink post-it note that marked one of the pages. Curiousity aroused in her quickly and it wasn't a few moments later that she reached for it, flipping it open to the page that was marked. A passage was underlined with pencil and it read;

_"But tell me this – since we preach that Christ rose from the dead, why are some of you saying that there will be no resurrection of the dead? For if there is no resurrection of the dead, then Christ has not been raised either."_

It was Paul, from 1 Corinthians 15:12-13.

This only made Madison more curious about the passage and she stared at it from some time. Why would someone underline a passage about resurrection of the dead? Madison was obviously ignorant of the incidents in Raccoon City like everyone else in the United States. The person who had underlined and flagged this page had not only done that but had dated it.

_March 23, 2000._

Madison glanced up at the Calendar that was hung above the bed. Today was March 15, 2000. With a churning in her stomach, she placed the Bible back in it's place and turned off the light. Someone was aware of something that would accure, but what? Madison laughed to herself lightly. This person is probably just crazy, she thought, A Bible-thumper that believes the world will end at the new millennium. Thoughts still strolled in her mind and took her what seemed like forever to fall asleep, eventually she did so.


End file.
